You’ll ask yourself throughout much of the running time of Glory to the Filmmaker, “What in the hell is this thing about?” We get to experience dancing aliens, asteroid impacts, duck puppets and submarines, all products from the shattered brain of “Beat” Takeshi.

Roughly, this is a post-modernist take on the filmmaker’s own impotence, his inability seemingly to move forward from the films that made him famous (gangster and swordplay), and to delve into genres that he has yet to explore. The conceit is funny and thoroughly enjoyable when it’s working, and the first half of the movie is told with a wink and a smile, with each segment short and to the (ridiculous) point. It all kinda goes to hell once he settles on a truly insane genre: take one part Buñuel, add a dash of typically psychotic/sadistic Japanese game show, through in a bunch of wrestlers in masks, and you get a small sense of what’s going on here. Oh, and let’s not forget the repeated torturing of a fiberglass representation of the director himself.

Knowing the “what”, in this case, does little to tell you the “why” in terms of the comings and goings of the film, and it’s silliness will certainly not be to everyone’s taste. Still, in a weird way it’s enjoyable, certainly not something to watch on a whim, but has laughs and insanity to keep it chugging along. It’s a dark and weird Monty Python sketch (complete with Gilliamesque animation and titles at the end), a kooky trip through the brain of a filmmaker who’s looking for anything but glory with this work.